Tuesday's Coming, Did You Bring Your Coat?
by OceanographersChoice
Summary: Three years after graduation, Hermione accepts a position at Hogwarts, where she takes over Snape's first to thirdyear classes. Compliant w HBP Snape's lack of choice in the HBP murder is assumed. Eventually HGSS. Will not merit M rating for a while.


Disclaimer: I have merely borrowed the lovely characters JKR so brilliantly crafted in her books. While I try (and will inevitably fail) to do them justice, I do it merely for my own enjoyment (and hopefully for yours). I do not profit from anything related to this endeavor.

This is the first fic that I have had any hope for or tried to develop; I would love suggestions and any criticism that provides me with constructive information. Feel free to let me know what you hate or love about my writing style, my character development, plot, and whatever else. I have become generally frustrated with the Hermione/Snape repertoire out there (other than mainstays such as the Roman Holiday series, Pawn to Queen, and the generally well-celebrated ones). While I enjoy a good Marriage Law fic, I have yet to find one that I feel adequately addresses that issue. I will probably try my hand at that at a later time. For now, I'm not entirely sure where this is going, so any suggestions are more than welcome and I'd love your feedback. I know it is going to take awhile for the Hermione/Snape relationship to develop, so either please be patient with me or head to a shorter/more direct fic. Thanks!

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The calendar entry for that particular Tuesday was empty, but as Hermione focused on the small square block she knew she had only avoided writing down her evening appointment in order to provide herself with a sense of peace. _I'll just get through dinner first_, she thought.

Tuesdays had never been her favorite collective fifty-two days of any given year. Rather the contrary, actually. It started around age five, when Tuesdays brought ballet lessons. Hermione's mother would spend what seemed like hours pulling, tucking and pinning her daughter's unruly hair into some style vaguely recognizable as a bun. Eyes already tearing and limbs fidgeting, she then had the pleasure of spending a dreaded hour of class in a hot studio with a barre that was just too high for Hermione to comfortably use. It was because Hermione was a fairly graceless child that her mother had enrolled her in ballet in the first place; while her father chuckled at her clumsiness and fondly referred to her two left feet, her mother felt that ballet would be a character-building solution that would improve her ungainliness and provide a sense of discipline.

Looking back upon those early Tuesdays, Hermione often mused during her later years that neither her grace nor her discipline had ever been much improved. For that matter, her distate for Tuesdays hadn't much abated, either. It was actually quite possible that it had grown sevenfold.

Sighing, Hermione placed her hands on the edge of her oak desk and began to push back her chair. A rear leg caught on the weave of the braided area rug, sending her tumbling backwards with a muffled "oomph!" _Typical_, she snorted in derision. Awkwardly standing up and righting her chair, she glanced around her office. It was small, but she took pride in the fact that she had been able to make even a former workroom in the dungeons feel welcoming and cozy. When she'd been offered the position, McGonagall – _Minerva, now_, she thought – had offered her a better-appointed office down the hall from her old Transfiguration classroom. Hermione had known, though, that wherever she worked would need to have better access to the apothecary and Potions classroom. Of course it also meant that she would be in closer proximity to Snape's own office, but as she was joining not only the Hogwarts faculty but also the Potions department, she needed that access to Snape and his – _their,_ she reminded herself – classroom as an unfortunate corollary to her position.

Accepting a subordinate position in a department traditionally manned by only one foreboding character, Hermione had been surprised how little personal interaction with Snape her job had required thus far. Other than lesson planning, that is. Though Hermione had relieved Snape of the apparently distateful task of instructing first-to-third year Potions students, Snape had remained his distant, snide, and habitually unappreciative self. Regardless of the professional respect she accorded him, she couldn't help but dread their weekly planning sessions. Snape's preference for Tuesday meetings only solidified her conviction that the Gregorian calendar had always gained some sort of gratification or amusement from her distress.

Gazing around the room one more time, Hermione quickly made her way to the door and quietly backed out. After ensuring that her wards were in place, she made her way down the slightly damp passageway that would lead from the dungeons up into the entrance hall. _Just three more days before the summer's over, _she thought as her steps echoed down the empty corridor. Surely a gaggle of pre-teens would be more less difficult to deal with than Snape, and by next week's meeting she would at least have a day or so of teaching experience and be able to feel more like a colleague than a student. Reaching the top of the staircase, Hermione rounded into the entrance hall and approached the heavy oak doors to the Great Hall. Having become accustomed to a decent amount of solitude outside of meals and her meetings with Snape, she braced herself for company and strode into the hall.


End file.
